The Stone Soul
by Bittergummy
Summary: John Watson is a 17 year old lumberjack from district seven with a taste for adventure. But his idea of adventure doesn't include killing twenty-three other people. He also picked the worst possible time to fall in love.
1. Prologue

Prologue

District seven's forest was alight with a dark red from the setting sun. It was past working hours, past curfew, but a young boy couldn't care less. The peacekeepers were blundering and loud while they walked through the woods. John Watson was quiet and light on his feet. He had to be this fine evening. Though John knew how to outsmart them it did not mean the peacekeepers were harmless. Sure enough a white clad man was patrolling the forest and John had to duck under some juniper berry bushes to avoid him. He could see a great black boot pass by him as he held his breath. John never wanted to grow up. He found being little had its advantages and felt being nine forever was best. This way he would never have to be reaped for the Hunger Games and he could just hide from the world instead of actually facing it. When the peace keeper was out of sight he leapt silently from the bush and found the tree he was looking for. This wasn't the first time John rebelled from curfew. He found it was the only way he could escape the pain and poverty at home. John finally found it. In his mind it was the tallest tree in the entire district, though his perception of the endless forest was small. The farthest John ever explored the forest was to see the dam but he only made it halfway. He grinned and jumped lightly to a long hanging branch. He used upper body strength to pull himself up. For a young boy he was already very strong and proven to be an effective lumberjack when the time came.

John was so light that the weakest branches could hold him for the seconds he needed to latch on to another. The red light pouring through the thick branches gave him a fierce look and it contrasted with his dark blue eyes. The light darkened as he climbed higher and the red on his skin turned pink, purplish, and dark blue. Only a little red light remained and it dotted him through the leaves like an abstract painting. John settled on one large knobby branch at the top of the old oak. His hands shaking in anticipation he spread the leaves and leaned out to observe the view. He first blinked a couple of times to train his eyes for the sun. The mist hung around the center of the trees. It made him feel as though he conquered the clouds for the night. The trees stretched on for miles and miles anyone could get lost. Then he saw the dam. It was a great foundation of concrete that separated the forest from the walls of water beyond. Gulls surrounded it in a hazy cloud fighting over a small fish. John imagined how great it would be to be a gull. He wouldn't be hungry, wouldn't be reaped into the games, and he could fly. John leaned forward far too much. There was an ominous snap. Then a massive plunge.


	2. The Day Before

John let out a large gasp and awoke suddenly. The pain in his leg was doubled today. He grasped his scarred leg and took deep breaths. Slowly his pulse went down and he reflected over his dream. It had been about the past. It has been eight years since he broke his leg after his fall. The only reason he survived the fall was due to a lake where the oak's roots twisted into. His leg snapped cleanly on impact. His father, knowing that he possibly ventured into the forest, went searching for him in the night and found him passed out on the banks of the water. He was half drowned and pure white bone punctured his outer skin in his right leg. They had mended him the best they could. The citizens of district 7 had to rely on inexperienced doctors for help and John's leg made a slow recovery. The only problem was psychological damage. John became very afraid of heights and refused a job as a lead climber. The only thing he was good for was swinging an axe and cutting down trees. John fished around his bed for his knobby wooden cane and stood unsteadily on his two feet. The limp in his leg was no excuse from his name in the reaping. As long as he could swing an axe he was good for work. John knew no one of great authority cared for his gimpy condition. As long as he could still be entertaining it didn't matter.

John limped down the stairs and greeted his bleary family warmly. His elder sister Harriet Watson had escaped the reaping somehow and after eighteen years of pure anxiety Mrs. Watson was practically wasting away at the thought of one more year of worry. John didn't want to remind her that his name had now been entered thirty times for the tesserae. Harriet had turned nineteen that year and now John, who was seventeen, would have to make it by a long shot.

"So…tomorrow's it?" John asked hoping childishly that he hadn't slept through his final day of freedom.

"Yes. As if they'd let us forget. Happy Hunger games this. Happy Hunger games that. I swear to God if I hear it more time I'm going to get lashes for assault." Harry snapped getting ready to leave for work.

John laughed while Mrs. Watson made a noncommittal sound of disapproval.

"Your silver tongue is going to get you lashes if you don't keep your head down."

"Oh right everyone at work agrees with me. It's the best to knock the capitol when those assholes aren't watching us."

"Harry, come on! You could make it worse for John-"

"Leave me out of this."

"How on earth could I make it any worse than forcing children to kill one another?"

"Harry!"

John sighed as he tuned out his mother's shrill voice about how they can tamper with the reaping. She had become steadily more worrisome and paranoid during the time so close to the reaping. John had decided to play hooky that day and escape into the forest and throw his axe around. John's axe had once been Mr. Watson's. The only job he can aspire to do is be a lumber jack because of his strength and aim. The only problem he would have to face if he was chosen for the games was his useless leg. Suddenly the bickering between his sister and his mother became loud. He felt that he couldn't stand thinking about the games any more than he wanted to. So he shoveled down his food, dismissed himself, and limped outdoors.

John grabbed his axe and made his way towards the thick woods. He looked quite unusual with his slight limp and an axe over his shoulder. John realized this and began to think about the games. The dull fear over took him. He sped up his pace until he was out of sight in the woods and looked at his makeshift cane. A sudden fierce anger and frustration seeped through him. Thinking quickly he threw it as hard as he could and it sailed through the air in a windmill before crashing against a tree trunk. John shifted his weight on his bad leg. For a few minutes his leg did not even waver. He positioned his body in a defensive stance and raised his axe over his head. He pushed all of his physical strength into his arm and hurled the axe at a faraway tree. The pain in his leg erupted so fast that John yelled out and stumbled to the ground. When he looked up he saw the axe wedged neatly in the tree that he aimed for. One strength. One weakness. The odds were definitely not in his favor.

"Nice one, gimpy!" Said a familiar voce behind John.

John looked over his shoulder in annoyance to the face of a young and beautiful girl. It was Mary Morstan, John's childhood friend. He had once conspired to run away from the district when they were kids. They had actually packed for it but never got around to actually finding a way out. This was a few days before John's tree accident. Mary was now fifteen.

"Alright, Goldilocks?" John quipped.

"Better than you are I'd imagine." She helped John up.

His leg was still slightly shaking but he fought to keep it still. It annoyed him to no end. He hated the way people looked at him with pity. Mary, however, understood his situation. She joked about it; she made it seem less painful and humiliating. John stood and his leg shook again. He struggled and concentrated until Mary sighed.

"Hold on, gimpy. I got it." She smiled at him and pushed his head playfully.

John felt a surge of heat when she touched him. He watched her wrestle the axe from the tree with a few hearty tugs. John noticed that her thin arms looked more toned than usual and her breasts bigger. John shook his head and guilty looked away when Mary stooped down and grabbed his cane. Her shirt left nothing to the imagination.

"How many times is your name entered this year?" Mary asked as she settled down next to him.

John sat down next to her stretching out his aching leg and sighing.

"Not too much. I think I'll be fine." John reached for his cane but Mary lifted it out of reach.

"How many times, John?"

"Thirty. You know district seven is one of the most populated districts."

"As far as our education tells us."

"If you can even call it that." John joked, nudging Mary as she fiddled with grass. "We needed the tesserae. It's hard enough to get by with it. We at least needed food. And now that Harry is out of the games…" he trailed off.

John laid his axe and cane on either side of him, sighing heavily. He felt better that he was in Mary's company. Though she was younger, Mary was the perfect confidant for John. Harry would often brush off his words and his mother would fret. John's father was at work so often that John didn't even know what he looked like anymore. Mary was level headed and comforting.

"I'm afraid, gimpy."

"I know. I am too."

Mary suddenly scooted closer to John and leant her head on John's shoulder. John jumped slightly and turned red. Her hair was soft against his shoulder. He shifted closer as they listened to the morning forest speak to them. For all their fears they had nothing to say. The reaping was going to come tomorrow no matter how hard they struggled against it. The very though depressed John to no end.

"Come on. Let's walk. We can try to get to the dam today."

"What for?" Mary rolled her eyes as John got up in a huff.

"To see it. To defile it. To knock it down with magic, I dunno. I need to get in shape." John shrugged

"Magic?" Mary laughed and got up, stretching.

"I've been nicking the classics from school."

"_Harry Potter_ series?"

"No, _the Alchemyst_. It's more scientific. And really rare. Apparently it was a trilogy or something. They could only salvage one copy." John sneered leaning on his cane and slinging the axe over his shoulder and limping towards the dam.


	3. The Final Hours

By the time the two made it to the dam they were aching and exhausted. Mary complained most of the way while John ignored the pains in his leg. The trek took up half the day and the midday sun was hidden beneath the deep forest leaves. It let off an eerie feel and somehow john felt unsafe, though there was bound to be lumberjacks working a couple of miles away from them.

"I'm surprised we didn't meet trouble."

"I'm not. The peacekeepers are busy bullying everyone out of their food. Don't forget the food shortage affects them too."

"Right…" Mary said bitterly, leaning against the cold stone of the dam.

The dam was often Mary's and John's hideaway for when things became too hard to bare. The capitol foolishly thought it was guarded around the clock but the only reminder that they even owned it was the large district symbol that was painted on it when construction was complete. When they were still small children, Mary swore to John that if he pressed his ear to the dam you could hear the water murmuring on the other side. John was thoroughly disappointed when he could only feel cold stone against his ear.

There was a long silence between the two friends. They found normal conversations were a weak distraction, but talking about the reaping would not make it any easier. The worst was that it wasn't even reaping day and John feared what strange dreams the night would bring. Maybe it was childish, to be afraid of the dark, but John soon found that his fear would not be too much of a weakness.

"Well!" Mary broke John out of his thoughts so suddenly that he jumped.

"What?" John asked.

"We better see if the bushes have anything in bloom! If we come back empty-handed our parents will have our heads." Mary said leaping up suddenly and walking ahead.

John hurried after her in dismal spirits. Even with the tesserae and the scarce berries they can wrangle up many would go hungry tonight. But tonight they had an incredible windfall. Mary went home happily with her skirt full of thick blackberries, small apples, ripe strawberries, and actually found a root that John guessed was a potato. John went home with the same spoils but he let her have the potato. He wondered if he'd be able to keep down food tonight.

Miles away Sherlock Holmes was at academy. He recently turned eighteen. It would be his last reaping. His lifestyle was very different from John's. The other districts hated the careers and the careers hated Sherlock. He was what many called "freak" or "savage" just because he could outsmart them. Though they hated him, they also feared him. He was tall, lean, and dark looking. Even his bright eyes looked cold and threatening. No one could predict his thoughts yet he could predict their past, present, and future. He became somewhat of a legend thanks to the mayor of district one. Mycroft Holmes bragged about his brother often; to the point where there was so much pressure for Sherlock to volunteer for the next games that it was like a heavy boulder upon his shoulders. And he was a victor. It was Sherlock's first year being reaped and his heart sank when they called out his brother's name. And now, Mycroft was looking more attention. The capitol would be in an uproar if they were treated to the great Mycroft Holmes little brother. Sherlock couldn't care less about Mycroft's image. Unlike other careers, Sherlock found it unwise. More than proving everyone right, he loved defying the capitol. Sherlock may have stuck others as paranoid but he has gotten away with enough to make the capitol turn its ignorant little head at him. President Snow always has a way of silencing people with big heads.

While Sherlock contemplated the odds of him being in the next games he practiced hand-to-hand combat with a solitary dummy. It was late and many of the careers went home jabbering excitedly about who was going to be chosen. Sherlock's punching and kicking became fiercer with every swing until he finished with a kick so ferocious that it knocked the dummy from the ceiling and put a large slash in its side. Sherlock panted heavily as the dummy leaked sand all over the floor. Sherlock could see every weakness in every person. It would be child's play to defeat them. But he refused to be a piece in their games.

"Ah. Still practicing?"

"Fuck off, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was deep and intimidating.

"Oh come now Sherlock, don't be that way." There was no remorse in Mycroft's voice. He sounded teasing, as if Sherlock was a toddler who needed guidance.

It infuriated him.

"What do you want?"

"To remind you to keep your head down. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop prancing around and accusing the peacekeepers of stealing-"

"I can't believe you're taking the side of that idiot. It was so obvious. Written all over his face that he was taking from the hard working. Peacekeepers are scum anyway-"

"Will you keep your voice down? You just want to pump up an impressive image with your oh-so perfect mind. Like a show off!"

"Like you and your oh-so perfect games? Stressed out?" Sherlock sneered deducting that he actually did fear the reaping tomorrow and that he's gained weight. Possibly the cakes his capitol admirers have been sending him.

"Yes. But I'm not the only one. Mummy's in a state too-"

"Oh she'll survive one more child being pawned off for this ridiculous dictator control."

"Such arrogance. You think you'll win?"

"I know I won't. Our dear president will make sure of it. You may be the only man in Panem that doesn't fear me."

Mycroft was finally silent. Sherlock was not exaggerating. With his mind he could bring on a complex rebellion. Snow knew this. But as usual, Sherlock was one step ahead of him. He realized that he will indefinitely be reaped tomorrow. Sherlock will be tempted to look in the bowl to see if every slip of paper will have his name on it in that unnerving neat handwriting.


	4. Elegy For John

John awoke on the inevitable day. The reaping. He started his typical routine with military precision, trying to pretend that everything was normal. It was beautiful out. The sun filtered through his makeshift curtains of patchwork cloth. It made his skin look patchy with different colors. He slipped into his dress shoes and began to dress himself. His dirty blonde hair was teased until it looked presentable and less wild. John Watson's "reaping day" clothes consisted of a white button down shirt and fitted black pants. It was standard but extremely clean. His other clothes were covered in earth and twigs from his forest getaways. After a couple of deep breaths he limped down the stairs and acknowledged his grim family. Harry suddenly scoffed.

"What?" John said defensively

"John, you look way too fancy!"

"Well duh…"

"I don't know it's bothering me!" She snapped, overly surly.

"Well at least you get the day off dear sister." John grinned at her and Harriet cracked a smile in spite of herself.

"Ruffle your hair, hedgehog. You'll look more manly." Harry leapt forward and forced John into a headlock while she messed up John's styled hair.

"Harry, what the hell!?" He screeched as she laughed heartily.

John wrestled against her for over a minute when John's father forced them apart.

"Can you be serious?" He snapped at her.

"Oh come on, John's not going to be picked. There are over a hundred kids older and younger with all their tessarae. He might as well look like a slob. It's the only rebellion we have left."

Mrs. Watson gave her signature dangerous look over her tea mug

"Harriet keep your mouth shut today! Representatives can put a bad word in for you-"

Harry rolled her eyes and moaned "Ugh…Mum…"

John deafened himself to their bickering. It was all part of a normal morning. John couldn't sleep in even if he tried. He didn't know what he could do to kill time until two. He couldn't venture out into the woods for fear of ruining his clothes and he didn't feel like dressing himself later. It would be easier for him mentally to just walk out the door. John knew deep down Harry had said those things to comfort him. But as her rightful sibling John could see how worried she was.

He was suddenly brought back in a memory when it was John's first reaping as a young twelve year old. The experience had been so horrifying that Harry didn't seem to want to let him go afterwards. Neither of them had been picked but John sobbed bitterly into Harry's dress. She had comforted him with snarky words but when John met her eyes he could see fear practically radiating off her.

The hours slipped by sluggishly. John tried desperately not to pace but he found himself limping around the living room until Harry took his cane away. When the time neared, John stood up and tried to flatten his hair unsuccessfully. Harry messed with his hair again and John smiled at her instead of berating her. Together they walked towards the Justice Hall. Mary also joined up with John as quickly and silently as she could. They said their hellos nervously. The trail to the Justice hall was made up of cobbled stone. John was careful to place his cane correctly on the path so he wouldn't fall. He took in his surroundings. The citizens of district seven were all headed in the same direction but there was no conversation or hearty babbling. The only sound that was heard was infinite amounts of feet on stone.

John felt himself begin to perspire. The stage brought in for the reaping stood in front of the Justice Building and John was separated from his family and Mary to be sorted. Harriet squeezed John's hand and gave him a winning smile before she made her way to the roped off section for adults. John could not help but to smile back. John got his blood taken and entered the roped off area for the boys. He saw the two large bowls stuffed with slips of paper and suddenly the district escort Rona Masters took the stage. John rolled his eyes as Rona greeted the stony-faced district by blowing kisses. John looked over his shoulder and spotted Harriet who mimed throwing up on the floor. John snorted and returned his attention to Rona.

"Welcome! Welcome! Oh but you don't need welcoming to your own district. No, I say welcome to the reaping of the 33rd annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor, my dear district duckies!"

There was only one way to describe Rona Masters. Flamboyant. He was exceedingly obnoxious and loud. John grudgingly admitted that he had a sense of humor but he enjoyed the Games far too much for John to ever like him. Rona had such dark skin that his hazel eyes were incredibly striking. John figured that they had been altered due to a capitol fashion. His short and downy hair was a shocking purple and was shaved into complex patterns so some of his scalp was showing. Rona wore a waistcoat suit that was the same neon purple as his hair. The collar stuck up around his neck with gold lines etched into the fabric. His eyes were painted with different shades of purple and black. It reminded John of a strange tropical bird with eccentric plumage.

"As always, Ladies first!" Rona trilled snatching a slip of paper from the circular bowl and unfolding it swiftly.

The whole area of roped off girls tensed. John found that his palms were sweaty and wished that the boys names were called first sometimes. Just to get the damn reaping over with. Rona particularly loved suspense when calling out the names. If he could get any more corny and pathetic he began to trill a little makeshift drum roll with his lips. John looked over his shoulder and found with disgust that people were still muttering over their bets.

"Sarah Sawyer!"

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Mary was safe this year. John let the relief properly wash over him, knowing that they were one name away from escaping to the dam together again. He found the chestnut haired girl almost immediately. Sobbing friends on either side of Sarah gasped as she blanched and stared at the cobbled ground. John tore his eyes away from Sarah and looked at the Justice Building spire for an easy distraction. He blinked several times and tried to settle his nerves. Here it comes. There could still be hope. He might not get chosen. John told himself over and over again in his head.

_Don't let it be me….Don't let it be me…._

"And now for the gentlemen!" Rona practically pranced to the opposite bowl. John could have punched him for enjoying something so horrible.

John began to truly panic when Rona reached for the slip of paper in the bowl. He tried to breathe normally but for some reason the burning sensation in his trapped lungs kept him from practically fainting. Part of him was hopeful enough that he could escape for two more years. John visualized what his life could be like. He could start as a full time lumberjack and provide for his family. John kept that image of a happy healthy man fresh in his mind as Rona unfolded the slip of paper with itching slowness. The hope of a better life overtook him and for a fraction of a second John actually smiled. Then Rona took a deep breath before shouting into the microphone…

"John Watson!"

John couldn't help the shock go through him. He prepared himself for the worst and yet he was still shocked. He hated himself for letting horror seep into his features, even if it was for a second. He clenched his jaw and fists knowing that the cameras were on him. He knew in his heart it didn't matter if he looked "hardy", his limp was a sure sign that he was a weakling. A target. Despite this, John lifted his chin and took a deep breath that shuddered despite his control. Rona observed him expectantly with the slip of paper still clutched between his long dark fingers. Every resident of district seven had their eyes on him now. They all turned to look at him simultaneously and the effect was so eerie that John flinched. Some of the faces held pity and others were relieved. Some held no emotion at all. John placed one foot forward and he made absolute sure it was his good foot. The other teens in his section cleared the way so quickly it was like John was tainted with incurable disease. John dug his knobby cane into the ground and walked with as much dignity as he could muster. He didn't dare search for Mary's eyes. It would be sure to break him. John was nearing the stairs when he heard a commotion over his shoulder.

"JOHN! JOHN!"

John whirled around with dread flooding his heart as he watched his elder sister cross the roped line to reach him.

"Harry! Harry, go back, please go back!" He shouted as the peacekeepers started to make their way towards her.

Harry looked like a lethal beast. She was practically foaming at the mouth with anger. John knew what was coming next and part of him feared for the peacekeeper that tried to lay a hand on her. Sure enough her fist broke the glass on the peacekeeper's visor and he stumbled long enough for harry to kick him in his groin. Several more uniformed peacekeepers began to swarm her and she brawled with them like a mad dog. John watched long enough to see a gun handle strike her temple with enough force to knock her down before he began to run towards the fray. The peacekeepers blocked his way and his cane rattled to the ground.

"Stop! STOP! PLEASE!"

One peacekeeper actually lifted John by his midriff and briskly made for the stage. John struggled angrily, striking the armored peacekeeper on his collarbone with his fist. The peacekeeper merely grunted.

"GET OFF ME! HARRY! HARRY!"

John shut his eyes when a stun gun was pressed to Harry's neck. John couldn't see her sprawled on the ground because she was blocked by the horde of panting and wounded peacekeepers. The peacekeeper practically jammed John down on the stage and departed. John righted himself and his bad leg wobbled dangerously. He was out of breath and trying desperately not to break down and cry. Rona was silent for a moment with a look of disbelief on his face. His jaw was ajar and John felt a wild desire to laugh at him. He would have, if not for the current circumstances. Rona suddenly snapped back into place and grinned towards the camera again.

" And there we have it! Round of applause for our young tributes! John Watson and Sarah Sawyer!"

The district was white faced and shaking because of Harry's outburst. No one clapped. John turned his head towards Sarah and she turned to him. For some alien reason John could actually muster a charming smile. As far as ashen-faced sad smiles go. To John's disbelief she blushed and looked straight ahead as the mayor began reading the Treaty of Treason. John was actively refusing to look at the swarm of peacekeepers still surrounding Harry's motionless body. John did not know if she was dead and began to slightly panic. If Harry pulled through her wounds the penalty for attacking a peacekeeper was too severe to imagine.

John shook his head and refused to think about it. He didn't even hear the Mayor finish the Treaty. Sarah nudged John and he flinched. Her hand was held out and John looked at her in confusion. His brain was sluggish from fear and hopelessness. He quickly grasped her hand and shook it hurriedly. John stared into her greenish blue eyes and let her hand go but she lingered on his for more than was comfortable. The anthem began to play and they both turned to the crowd with a snap. John saw his future mentor Sasha Rutan walk towards them. John observed her with trepidation and remembered her games. John was very young but he distinctly remembered a particularly nasty kill where she strangled a tribute with bits of barbed wire that she picked up in the cornucopia. The messier the death the better in the capitol's eyes and she received a myriad of sponsors afterwards. She inclined her head towards them and scrutinized her tributes under her heavy eyebrows. Her auburn hair was so tightly tied back in a bun that her face looked oddly stretched and strained.

The anthem finished suddenly and the John was forced out of his thoughts about Sasha. The peacekeepers were rough with John as they led him into the Justice Hall. John imagined himself hurling his father's axe into the peacekeeper's arrogant faces for harming his sister to control his anger. Sarah was led into a vacant room opposite his and the door closed before John could get another look at her. John was placed into his own room before the door was slammed behind him. John's leg finally burned with pain and failed him. He hissed and stumbled to the couch. In his adrenaline he had forgotten the pain momentarily. But it always came back.

John kept sliding his palms down his legs now, trying to prepare for the hour he had to say goodbye. He couldn't bear to hear the verdict on his sister. There could be no tears from him either. He couldn't come out red and blotchy to the train. The more he dwelled on it the more he could feel his resolve failing. He ran his hands through his messy hair and instantly thought of Harry. Sure enough his vision began to blur and his throat dried out. John shook himself and refused to blink. He looked around the room and realized it was the nicest place he's ever been. His home was shabby, dark, and cramped. This room was polished to perfection, the couch was unnaturally soft, and everything had a mahogany surface. John focused on these small things until the door opened again. In came his tearful mother and tense father. Harriet was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Watson was clutching John's cane.

John stood up quickly and stammered, "Is she…you know-"

"No, sweetheart she isn't. They dragged her away but we…" Mrs. Watson went into a fit of sobs as she handed John his cane.

John's father placed his hands on his wife's shoulders and rubbed her soothingly as she tried to compose herself.

"We saw her breathing, John. Just barely." Mr. Watson looked extremely grim.

John didn't know whether not to be relieved or more terrified. He settled for embracing his mother. Theoretically she lost both her children today. John brushed the thought aside. Mrs. Watson began to sob again.

"Mum….Mum, I'm not dead yet." John laughed weakly and Mrs. Watson clutched at him harder. Perhaps the joke was in poor taste.

John led his parents to the couch and they sat together silently. Any thoughtful communication was without words. They communicated with a touch of the shoulder or the passing of a handkerchief. After a half an hour the door opened again to reveal Mary. Mr. Watson steered Mrs. Watson out for a moment to give them privacy. John tried to smile at Mary but he ended up grimacing. Mary grabbed John and embraced him with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

"Unh….nice grip, Goldilocks." John quipped with a high-pitched chuckle.

"Shut up. You stupid idiot."

"Hey now…who's stupid?"

Mary still had her small pale hands on John's shoulders.

"John…you can throw an axe better than the whole district."

"Mary…I can barely run…"

"I'm serious, John! Remember that time we played hide and seek and I literally didn't find you until you had to reveal yourself?"

"You were five. Hardly a trained seeker."

"Dammit, Gimpy I'm trying to help you!"

John wrapped his arms around Mary again.

"Just help me now. Help me to not fall to pieces…"

"I'm starting the most impressive sponsor group in Hunger Games history. How can they not? After the badass show you put on."

John started laughing suddenly and Mary jumped. She looked concerned, as though John had already lost his mind.

"I'm sorry…b-but…did you see Rona's face?" John couldn't stop his giggles throughout the sentence.

"Yes! My God he looked like a fish out of water." Mary turned her face into what appeared to be a gape with a slightly lazy eye and John laughed harder.

"'May the odds be ever in your….duurrrrr?'"

The joke was so jayus that John and Mary went into hysterics. Their snorting laughter forced them to sit on the couch. When they could finally breathe again John realized that it had been days since he laughed. The effort to smile felt as though it could break his jaw. And suddenly guilt enveloped him that he had poked fun at the moment Harry fought for him. But if she hadn't lashed out, Harry would at least get to say goodbye. The thought pained him so much that Mary began to rile him up again with other jokes and fond memories. They spent the rest of their time talking about anything other than the Hunger Games until a cruel awakening came in the form of the peacekeepers. Mr. and Ms. Watson briskly pushed past them to say goodbye one last time.

"Win for me, Gimpy. I can't do this without you." Mary kissed John on his cheek and stood up.

John accepted one more embrace from his parents until Mrs. Watson slowly exited the room. Mr. Watson handed John a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"Dad, what's this?"

"It was meant to be your birthday present. Now it's your token…take care of it John…"

John unwrapped the brown paper and found a complex watch. The face had a half moon with a smile and a starry night as the background. It was surrounded by tough pliant leather and the hands of the clock were fine points of sterling silver

"Didn't this used to be Grandpa's?" John asked in awe. It fit perfectly on his wrist. It wasn't too large or small. But it was so artfully done that it would be worth a lot of money in district seven. John's grandpa had crafted it himself.

"It used to be mine too. Only I never really wore it. You should know what time it is in whatever blasted place they send you."

"You should use it to buy more food-"

"Listen to me, John."

John looked into his father's eyes.

"When you come home, we'll never go hungry again. We won't have to slave away at work. I'm not selling the old thing. I know you're coming back. When you feel like giving up, look at that damn watch._ You can do this._ "

John saw genuine hope in his father's eyes. John had none for himself. His father roughly dragged him into a hug.

"Good luck, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

Mr. Watson was practically forced out the door. John was alone again. He thought he would feel better and resolved but it actually made everything worse. John began to wind his new watch nervously. He wished he could see his sister. He wished he could just go home. He looked up as the peacekeepers approached him. They were there to do the exact opposite.


End file.
